


the only heaven i'll be sent to

by freefallvertigo



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Biting, Deepthroating, Dom!13, F/F, Fingering, Oral Sex, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/F, Voyeurism, dom/sub dynamic, thirteen's a major daddy and bill is very much a simp, yaz is just plain hot tbh x
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 09:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefallvertigo/pseuds/freefallvertigo
Summary: Bill hasn't been able to keep her eyes off the alluring couple sitting across from her at the bar all night.But they've spotted her, too, and she's quick to learn that that can only mean trouble.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan/Bill Potts
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	the only heaven i'll be sent to

**Author's Note:**

> idk man. i'm just horny.

Bill notices them as soon as they arrive. 

By all means, they should just be two more faces in the crowd. The bar is busy tonight. Bill and her friends are seated at a table across the room from the entrance, and there are heaps of patrons—seated, standing, dancing, queuing at the circular bar in the centre of the venue—between she and them. 

It doesn’t matter. 

They’re magnetic, and Bill’s eyes stick to them like pins. 

Hand in hand, they slip like water through the throng and zero in on the last free table, which isn’t really a table but a barrel with two stools pulled up to it. Zoning out of her friends’ ongoing conversation, Bill studies them. 

They’re both equally striking, to be sure. Wearing a cocktail dress the colour of blood or jam or burst berries, which cuts off just before the knee, the shorter of the two women crosses her dark legs and folds her arms atop the barrel. She scans the crowd like she’s looking for someone; Bill hastily peels her gaze away a split second before the searchlight lands on her. She sips her beer and waits ten seconds.

When she looks back over, the woman’s partner is tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear and whispering something into it. 

She’s a different kind of attractive altogether. 

Short blonde hair has been tied into a small pony, revealing a dark brown undercut and exposing her pale, flawless complexion and acute bone structure. Tucked into black slacks is a shirt of grey silk, whose sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and whose top couple of buttons are undone. There’s an expensive watch on her wrist and a silver necklace hanging from her throat. She fondles the pendant absently as she converses, in what looks like hushed tones, with her acquaintance. 

Bill might easily have noted their attractiveness and moved on, did they not then start to touch one another. 

Undercut puts a pale hand on Cocktail Dress’s knee. She teases the hem of her dress with her fingertips; their respective smiles reek of sin in the low, red lighting. Cocktail Dress says something. Undercut grins. Bold fingers inch beneath the fabric of the dress. Bill holds her breath and watches—but the hand stops there. 

Next thing, they’re kissing. 

Cocktail Dress’s painted lips part for Undercut’s tongue, and Bill feels her skin begin to burn. She knows she shouldn’t be watching, knows it’s indecent to stare at two people engaging in such an indecent display, and yet she can’t bring herself to look away. 

She doesn’t look away when Undercut mumbles something against Cocktail Dress’s mouth, she doesn’t look away when Undercut nibbles on Cocktail Dress’s lower lip; she doesn’t look away when they both turn to look at her in unison. 

Wait.

They’re looking at her. More than that, they’re _smirking_ at her. Undercut flashes a goading wave her way, shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh, and Bill knows she’s caught. 

Her eyes drop so fast and hard to the table that they might as well dent the wood. 

Uttering a half-hearted excuse to her friends, Bill gets up and makes her way to the restroom. She keeps her head ducked and doesn’t make eye contact with a soul, but she thinks she feels twin holes burning into her back as she moves. 

The restroom consists of a few chipboard, graffitied cubicles, a metal trough sink, and a wide mirror decorated with peeling stickers and faded phone numbers. It’s empty when Bill makes her way to the sinks and splashes her face with water. By the time she blindly reaches for a paper towel from the dispenser, dries her face, and rights herself once more before the mirror, it’s no longer empty. 

Cocktail Dress shares the mirror with her. 

She pulls a tube of vermillion lipstick from her clutch and applies a fresh coat. Bill washes her hands just for something to do; when she glances up, she finds Cocktail Dress already watching her in the reflection. 

“My girlfriend loves this shade,” says Cocktail Dress. “What do you think?”

“Wh—uh, me?” 

“See anybody else around?”

“It’s—yeah, no, it’s nice. Dead nice,” stammers Bill. “Your bird’s got good taste.”

Cocktail Dress turns to face her, brow piqued. “You think so?”

“Oh, no, I just meant—“

“Want some?” offers Cocktail Dress, holding up her lipstick. 

“I mean…” Bill gestures at her outfit—denim jacket, black jeans, dark crop top. “Not really sure it’s my colour, you know?”

“Nothin’ wrong with a pop of colour, babe. Here.” 

Dismissive of Bill’s concerns, Cocktail Dress steps up to her, extinguishes the notion of personal space, and cups her jaw. Her fingertips are smooth and a touch firm as she holds her face and paints a coat of crimson on Bill’s marginally parted lips. Bill flexes her hands at her side, eyes on the ceiling lest she’s caught staring again. 

“Your face is really warm,” Cocktail Dress murmurs. Dark, disarming eyes peer at Bill through long lashes. “Feelin’ okay?”

Bill clears her throat. “Yeah. Yep. Ace. Just a bit hot. You don’t think it’s hot in here?”

“Not really.” 

Cocktail Dress returns her lipstick to her clutch and then thumbs a smudge of red from the corner of Bill’s mouth. She must pick up on the way Bill’s breathing falters if the amused quirk of her lips is anything to go by. Is she toying with her on purpose? The idea should vex Bill a lot more than it does. 

“Perfect,” she smiles.

“Uh, thanks…?”

“Yaz,” introduces Yaz. “And, if you were wonderin’, my girlfriend’s Jay.”

“Why would I be wonderin’?”

“No reason.”

“Right,” frowns Bill. “Well, I’m Bill.”

Yaz straightens out the collar of Bill’s jacket and, fleeting and featherlight, touches her cheek. Bill feels her nerves crackle with electricity even as Yaz pulls away. 

“Enjoy your night, Bill,” winks Yaz.

Bill can’t find her voice in time to return the sentiment before Yaz slips back out into the bar. 

When Bill returns to her table, she does her best to put Yaz and Jay out of her mind. It proves difficult. They occupy her peripheral vision at all times and, whenever Bill’s will crumbles and she braves a glance over, one or both of them are always ready and waiting to meet her eye. And yet Bill keeps looking. 

There’s just something about the way they can’t keep their hands off one another; the way they touch one other’s thighs, hips, faces, hair, lips; the way they kiss so boldly and so frequently. 

Were it anyone else, Bill would likely be revolted by such public displays of affection. For reasons unknown, Jay and Yaz are a resounding exception. Whatever the opposite of revolted is, that’s what Bill feels whenever she notices them. 

Which is constantly. 

Some time later, Bill approaches the bar, jostling her way through the amassing crowd until she finds herself at the front. No sooner does she cross her arms over the bar top than somebody sidles up right beside her. Somehow, Bill knows it’s going to be Jay before she turns. 

“That’s a good shade on you,” Jay drawls, pupils affixed to Bill’s mouth. 

There’s a knowing edge to her rugged voice and it solidifies like a dagger at Bill’s throat. She feels the serrated blade of it digging into her skin when she swallows. 

“Yeah?” Bill strains to say. “I think it looks better on your girlfriend, personally.”

Jay casts a look over her shoulder and seeks out Yaz’s face in the crowd. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Um. Yeah.”

Jay’s focus snaps back towards Bill like a rubber band. “Yeah? You think she’s attractive?”

Bill can’t help but feel like Jay is trying to catch her out; to manipulate a confession out of her, or else embroil her in a game she doesn’t know the rules of. 

“I mean, you make a good pair. You look good together.” 

Is that what Jay wants to hear? 

Hard to know; she just keeps watching her with a curious tilt of her head, like she’s sizing her up. For what purpose, Bill can’t hazard. 

The bartender emerges and Jay flags him down. 

She orders two rum and cokes and, “A pint of whatever Bill’s on.”

Bill’s too busy being shocked that Jay knows her name, too busy weighing up the implications of that fact, to politely decline Jay’s offer to buy her a drink. 

Yaz has been talking about her. To Jay. They’ve been discussing her amidst heavy make-out sessions and the tangible cloud of lust and love and wicked desire they exude from their every pore. The notion titillates Bill for so many embarrassing reasons. 

“Here with friends, Bill?” Jay wonders as the bartender pulls Bill’s pint. She possesses a remarkably casual infliction for someone with a less-than-casual interest weighing heavy as gold behind her eyes. 

“Yeah, just some work mates,” Bill answers. 

“That’s good.”

Why is that good? 

“I like your top, by the way,” Jay compliments, sharing in her girlfriend’s disregard of personal space when she reaches out to pinch the hem of Bill’s crop top. Her cold knuckles brush Bill’s exposed stomach and her muscles tense. 

“Thanks,” croaks Bill, throat dry. The sooner she gets this pint down, the better. 

“Yaz has one just like it. Maybe a bit shorter. Drives me crazy when she wears it. Y’know, when she lifts her arms up, and the top rides up just a little bit more…” Jay grins, still rolling the fabric of Bill’s top between her fingers. “I think she does it on purpose.”

Nervous, Bill’s eyes dart towards Yaz. She’s still perched at their barrel, chin resting on her palm and eyes glued to Bill and Jay. Does Jay know she’s in plain sight of her girlfriend? Does she care? 

When the bartender slides their drinks across the bar, Jay releases Bill’s shirt in favour of pulling out her wallet. She taps her card against the machine and returns it to the pocket of her slacks. After she picks up her drinks, Bill expects her to walk away. Instead, Jay turns to face Bill head on. 

“Were we makin’ you uncomfortable?” she asks.

Bill blinks. “Sorry?”

“Well, it’s just, we couldn’t help but notice you watchin’ us before. Every time we kissed, every time I touched her, you just kept watchin’ us. Is that because you were uncomfortable?”

Ears burning, Bill scratches the back of her neck and fixes her eyes on her feet. “Oh. Sorry. No, I—you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“So, you liked it?”

“What?” splutters Bill. “That’s—I’m not—“

Jay chuckles good-naturedly. “Relax, I’m only teasin’.”

“Oh. Right.” Bill laughs awkwardly, closing her hand around her pint. “Well, um, cheers for the drink, mate.”

“Don’t mention it. Yaz’s idea, anyway.”

“Your girlfriend told you to buy me a drink?”

“You’re a good lookin’ girl with an empty glass,” shrugs Jay. “‘Course she did.”

Bill has no idea how to respond to that.

“Oh,” she settles on.

Then Jay leans in close and whispers, “We’ll see you around, Bill.”

Bill can’t decide if it sounds more like a promise or a threat. 

Jay makes her way back towards her girlfriend, kisses her cheek, and utters something to her. Try as she might, Bill can’t read her lips—though there’s not a doubt in her mind that her name fell from them when Yaz looks past Jay to regard Bill carefully. Bill doesn’t bother looking away this time. Neither does Yaz. 

They’re still making direct eye contact across the room when Yaz nods at whatever Jay is saying. Bill would kill to know what she’s agreeing to. 

She returns to her friends unable to concentrate on a single thing they’re saying. Occasionally, she feels eyes on her. Whenever that happens, she exerts all her will on keeping a straight face, pretending not to notice; keeping her hands steady when she brings her glass to her lips. She got called out for staring once—she doesn’t want it to happen again. 

In fact, Bill has almost drained her pint by the time she finally does look back at their table. The instant she does, her heart plummets. 

It’s empty. 

She sweeps her gaze to and fro across the bar, but she can’t make them out anywhere. It’s ridiculous for her to feel as disappointed as she is. What was she expecting anyway? They’re a couple. They were probably just messing with her. Having a joke at her expense. Then, when she stopped playing along, they got bored and left. Bill tries not to feel so humiliated; consoles herself by finishing the last of her free beer, but she’s no longer in much of a merry mood. 

Bidding goodnight to her friends under the guise of an early morning, Bill decides to hit the restroom before heading home. 

Probably, she’ll get in and watch a film. Probably, she won’t be able to focus on the film because she’ll be too busy thinking about Jay and Yaz. Probably, she’ll end up touching herself and imagining their hands and mouths and fingers and tongues all over her. 

Or probably not. 

Bill enters the restroom and stops dead in her tracks as the door swings shut behind her. She wasn’t looking for them, but she found them. 

Jay has Yaz pressed up against the far wall; her mouth is at her neck, one hand is fisted in her hair, and the other has disappeared up her dress. Both their eyes are closed. They’re grunting and gasping and they clearly couldn’t give less of a shit about the semi-public nature of their entanglement. 

Desperate not to be seen, Bill scrambles for the door. Her hand closes around the doorknob, she yanks, and it breaks off in her hand. 

_What?_

At her back, Bill hears a breathy laugh. 

“Babe, we’ve got a visitor,” says Yaz. 

Bill swivels around just in time to see Jay detach from Yaz’s throat and turn her head. Neither Jay nor Yaz look particularly bothered by her sudden appearance. If anything, their expressions are smug. Jay pulls her hand out of Yaz’s dress and licks her fingers.

_Fuck._

“Hiya, Bill,” Jay greets coolly. 

“Uh. Sorry. The door handle, it—I didn’t mean to just—look, I swear I’m not following you,” Bill struggles to say, slotting the door handle back into the wood and trying to get it to turn. Why won’t it turn? 

“Thought you said nobody’d be able to come in if we loosened the handle?” asks Jay. 

“Didn’t think they would. Saw it in a film once.”

“What film?”

“Might have been a dirty one, actually,” recalls Yaz. “My bad. Least we know, now.”

For the life of her, Bill can’t suss why Jay and Yaz aren’t even slightly mortified that she just walked in on them. The knob slips out of her clammy hands, clatters to the tiled floor, and rolls to a stop at Jay’s feet. Bill curses.

“You okay, Bill?” checks Jay, crouching down to retrieve the handle. “Lookin’ a little flustered.”

Bill scoffs. “How is it that _I’m_ the one looking flustered right now?”

Jay spreads her hands. “Beats me.”

“Just stick your finger in it,” suggests Yaz.

“...Come again?”

“The hole in the door—where the handle was. Just curl your finger in it and pull, and it’ll open.”

“Oh. Yeah,” mumbles Bill, eyeing the door. “How didn’t I think of that?”

“Sorry you had to see that, mate,” Jay apologises, tossing the handle into the sink and proceeding to wash her hands. “We really didn’t think anyone’d be able to come in.”

“I don’t think she really minds, do you, Bill?”

Yaz leans her back to the sink beside Jay and folds her arms, dragging her eyes from the soles of Bill’s boots to the curls on top of her head. Bill swears she feels her gaze raking into her like sharp nails across naked skin; like Yaz is trying to pry her open with nought but a leer. It might just be working. 

Bill wonders if now is the time to stick her finger in it and run, but Jay seeks her out in the bathroom mirror before she has a chance. 

“You off home?” she questions, shaking her hands dry and turning to face her. 

“That’s the plan, yeah.”

Yaz cocks her head. “Someone waitin’ for you?”

They both await her response in stifling silence. 

“Not unless you count Dog.”

“Dog?”

“My goldfish.”

Jay and Yaz share a laugh. Bill’s far too tense to so much as crack a smile. This is weird, right? She should be finding this whole situation weird. 

And yet. 

Bill’s sure, by now, that Yaz and Jay have been singling her out all evening, and she’s also sure that there’s something going on between the three of them which none so far have bothered to directly address. She’s far less sure of what to do about any of that. 

Peeling away from the sink, Jay pockets her hands and draws closer to Bill, circling her like a big cat around small prey. Bill watches her every movement in the bathroom mirror. 

“Y’know, it’s actually my birthday today,” reveals Jay, eyes swooping south of Bill’s belt as she comes to a stop behind her. 

“Oh. Well, Happy Birthday,” Bill offers, too on-edge to make herself turn around and face Jay head on. She opts to keep looking at her in their reflection instead. “Is that why you’re here? Celebrating?”

Jay glances at Yaz, and Yaz smirks. 

“I wasn’t sure what to get her,” Yaz divulges, “so we decided we’d go out and choose her present together.”

“So, what did you choose?” 

Lifting a sculpted brow at Bill in the mirror, Jay takes a slight step closer to her. Her proximity is radioactive. A few more inches and they’d be touching. 

And then Yaz is moving. Her heels echo off the tiles; three strides and she’s directly in front of Bill, trapping her between both their bodies. Bill doesn’t know where to look or what to do with herself. She stands perfectly still and doesn’t take a single breath. 

“My girlfriend thinks you’re really pretty,” Yaz admits. “We both do.”

Just like that, it dawns on Bill. 

The present they’re choosing isn’t a what, but a who—and, right now, they’re both looking at her like she’s swaddled in wrapping paper and wearing a big red bow around her neck. It’s tied a little tight; makes it hard to speak. 

Nevertheless, when she realises they’re waiting for her to say something, Bill gives it her best shot.

“I think you’re really pretty, too,” she mumbles. “Scorching hot, actually. To be honest, I noticed you both as soon as you walked in the bar.”

“We know,” says Jay, and when did she move closer? 

Bill swears she can feel her breath on the back of her neck. And then—oh. That’s her hand. On her bare waist. Yaz’s hand finds her other. They’re _touching_ her, and Bill definitely isn’t complaining. 

“What do you think, babe?” asks Yaz, eyes sliding off Bill and landing on Jay. 

Jay gently squeezes Bill’s hip. “I know what I think. I’m more interested in knowin’ what Bill’s thinkin’.”

“Honestly?” Bill chuckles anxiously. “I probably shouldn’t even say half the things I’m thinking.”

“Say them,” urges Jay. Her lips are right by Bill’s ear; a sliver of blonde hair, which has fallen loose from her pony, tickles her warm cheek. 

Turning her head brings Bill nose to nose with Jay. Jay’s blown pupils, which keep expanding even as she watches, are lightless sinkholes down which Bill tumbles eternal. 

There’s a feeling people get just as they’re about to fall, when they tip a little too far forwards and peer right down the barrel of the drop. The heart suspends itself in time. Fingers and toes buzz like livewires. Every fibre of the being tenses with anticipation, fear; adrenaline. 

Bill is frozen in that moment. The sensation doesn’t come and go, it climbs inside of her bones and makes a nest out of them. 

Truth be told, it’s addictive. 

“Answer her,” prompts Yaz. Her hand tightens on Bill’s hip. “Tell us what you want, Bill.”

“You,” Bill breathes without thinking. She looks between Jay and Yaz. “I want both of you. Like, a lot.”

Apparently, that’s all they were waiting to hear. Jay’s hand slides across Bill’s exposed stomach and she presses flat against her body and noses at her neck. Bill gasps when Jay drives her hips into her backside. Yaz only shoots her a sly look as if to say, Uh oh—you’ve done it, now.

But what _has_ she done? 

Bill has no idea what she’s just signed up for, but all of a sudden there are two perfect strangers putting their hands on her in a public place, and all she wants is to make it worse. 

“Can I ask, Bill,” Jay whispers hotly, “are you good at followin’ orders?”

_Christ,_ thinks Bill, _so it’s_ that _kind of thing._

“When I want to be,” she answers.

“Well, you’re gonna wanna follow mine.”

“Yeah?” Bill swallows. “Why’s that?”

Jay skims her fingers across the waistband of Bill’s jeans. “Why is that, Yaz?”

“Because if we make Jay happy,” says Yaz, “she’ll make us happy in return. You wanna be happy, don’t you, Bill?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“Good,” Jay purrs into the crook of Bill’s neck. “Now go wait outside.”

Bill blinks. “What?”

In an instant, both Jay and Yaz have peeled away from her. Her skin singes, as if branded by their intrusive hands, and Bill would have been perfectly okay with it if they’d kept going until she smelled cooking flesh. 

But all they do is stand back and watch her expectantly. 

She frowns at them. “You want me to…?”

“You interrupted us, remember?” recalls Jay. She puts her hand on Yaz’s back; her fingers saunter down her spine towards the hem of her dress. “Go wait for us while we finish.”

Yaz presses into Jay’s touch when she lifts up the back of her dress and slides a hand between her legs. Bill knows they told her to go, knows it’s peculiar to _want_ to watch something like this, but her bones might as well be made of lead when Jay pushes Yaz up against the sink and bends her over. Jay’s hand twitches and Yaz makes a noise. They both look over their shoulders at Bill. 

“Well?” prompts Jay. 

Slack-jawed, Bill backs toward the door, stumbling only a little on her way and then fumbling blindly for the hole in the wood. 

“Don’t worry, babe,” Yaz calls. “This won’t take long.”

Jay sneers at that. 

When Bill scrambles out of the bathroom, she indulges in one last look back at them before the door closes completely. The last thing she sees is Jay bending over Yaz’s body with a downright devilish curl of her lips. 

“Holy shit,” Bill mutters, drowned out though her words are by the thumping music and sudden swell of voices and cheer. 

And then she laughs. 

She laughs, because, “Holy shit!”

Elbowing her way through the crowd, Bill stops briefly by the bar to order a shot of something strong and then, like a good little soldier, she follows Jay’s orders and waits outside. 

It’s a brisk evening. The pink neon sign above the bar soaks the streets; soaks into Bill’s skin. It hums like her charged nerves. A few patrons stand around outside the entrance, blowing smoke into the air and reeling off mindless natter with drunken ease. Every bar along the strip is similarly lively. 

It strikes Bill, as the cool air envelops her hot skin, that she has no idea what she’s doing. A few brief, and remarkably odd, exchanges with two alluring women she doesn’t know, and she’s already wrapped around their fingers. 

She’d rather be kneeling at their feet. 

They know it, too. Of course they do. They told her to jump and she was already in the air. 

It’s embarrassing. 

It’s intoxicating. 

“It’s bloody freezing.”

Bill swivels around at the electrifyingly familiar voice to find Yaz and Jay exiting the bar. Yaz rubs her arms for warmth as they approach. Looking at them, Bill would never have guessed that Jay had just had Yaz bent over the bathroom sink. They look far too composed—unlike Bill. 

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, she’s forgotten how to stand like a normal person; she doesn’t know whether she should be looking at them or looking away and acting like she’s already forgotten about the whole thing. 

When did she become such a wreck? 

Jay spots her first and guides Yaz over to her with a hand at the small of her back. “Bill, be a darlin’ and offer Yaz your jacket, will you? Isn’t very proper to let a lady go cold.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine,” Yaz assures. 

But Bill is already out of her jacket. “No, it’s okay. You can have it. Here.” 

Yaz shakes her head at Jay with a resigned laugh, and then turns to allow Bill to help her into her jacket. Now that Bill’s midriff is exposed to the chill, she feels goosebumps rising along her arms, but she has half a mind to credit that to the way Jay looks her up and down in her periphery. Bill looks at her to let her know she sees her. Jay admits no shame. 

“There’s a taxi rank ‘round the corner,” says Jay, slinging her arm around Yaz’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Me and Yaz are gonna head home.”

“Right,” nods Bill, uncertain. 

“We’d like you to come.”

Funny, it’s posed less like a question and more like a demand. Jay’s authority is so effortless, so blatant, that Bill starts to feel as if she’s a schoolkid in the presence of a teacher, a criminal in the presence of a judge; a commoner in the presence of a king. 

Jay would look good in a crown, Bill remarks. A ruler she could get behind. Or beneath. 

She offers Bill her hand. 

Bill takes it. 

The taxi rank, as it turns out, is a little further away than just around the corner. They walk slow. Unhurried. Jay always finds a way to make sure she’s touching both Bill and Yaz at the same time: a hand on the hip, a brush of shoulders, a squeeze on the arm, light touches on the back. 

As constantly, agonisingly aware of Jay’s hands as she is, Bill finds it hard to keep up with the conversation. She lets them talk, and they let her get away with minimal contributions—for about two minutes. 

“You all right, Bill?” checks Yaz, peering around Jay to get a look at her as they cross the street. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“Yeah, sorry. In a world of my own,” Bill apologises, refusing to acknowledge Jay’s cold fingers when they wind around her own and begin to fiddle mindlessly with them (or perhaps, Bill wagers, not so mindless). 

Jay cocks her head at her. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” 

“Held hands? Nah, never,” jokes Bill. When Jay only gives her a waiting look, she drops the charade. “Um. No, funnily enough, I’ve never left a bar and gone home with two complete strangers. Is that a regular occurrence for most people?”

“No idea,” shrugs Yaz. She shoots Bill a sly smile. “We’re not most people.”

Bill scoffs in agreement. “That, you aren’t.” 

“It’s alright to be nervous, Bill.” Jay nudges Bill’s elbow with her own. “It’s even alright to change your mind.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re, like, the fittest couple I’ve ever seen. No way I’m changing my mind,” insists Bill. “Besides, wasn’t that your whole aim? To make me nervous?”

Jay steers them down a quieter side street. The taxi rank is just up ahead, distinguishable by the tail end of a black cab parked on the corner. 

“Our aim was to get you to leave with us,” explains Jay. “Makin’ you nervous was just the cherry on top.”

“You get off on it, yeah?”

Jay stops dead. There are no lampposts in the alley they’ve wandered down, and so, with no light for them to catch, her eyes become black as pools of tar. Thick. Viscous. Stuck fast to Bill.

Bill holds her ground when Jay steps up to her, but she’d be a liar to say her hands don’t begin to sweat. 

“You’re about to find out exactly what I get off on,” whispers Jay, nose to nose with Bill, “s’long as you’re good and willin’.”

“Oh, I’m willing.”

“But are you good?” Jay trails a fingertip up along the length of Bill’s arm. Her eyes slide off Bill and land on Yaz, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “The pair of you… Christ, I hardly wanna wait to get home.”

“So, don’t,” sings Yaz. She comes up behind Bill, puts her hands on her waist, and then kisses her neck. 

“ _Oh_ ,” gasps Bill. 

Jay’s stoic front falters for a heartbeat. For its duration, the pure _want_ of her slips through the cracks and begs for a little satisfaction. She clenches and unclenches her fists. She steps closer.

Yaz steps back and tugs Bill with her. As her sticky lips and warm tongue carve a path along the thumping muscle at Bill’s throat, Bill tilts her head to grant easier access and allows Yaz to drag her further and further back until they collide with the brick wall. 

Cloaked in shadow, Jay encroaches upon them. Yaz smiles coolly against Bill’s skin. 

“C’mon, babe,” she implores, “she’s for you, remember?”

“We should wait,” mutters Jay, but her actions contradict. She presses her palms to the wall at either side of Yaz and Bill and, when Yaz licks upward along Bill’s neck, carefully tracks the tip of her tongue with wanton intent. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, come on, Jay,” Bill chimes in. “I’m for you.”

Pale fingers curl around Bill’s chin. Jay’s mouth is close enough to kiss, but something tells Bill that that isn’t the kind of thing she can just do (not without permission). 

At any rate, the idea of kissing Jay is terrifying. 

She can’t imagine it to be tender. She can’t imagine Jay would harbour any intent except to bruise, bite, brand. Make no mistake, Bill would happily let her do so, but she isn’t about to ask her to. Those aren’t the rules of the game they’re playing; Bill’s learning them, now. Slowly. 

Jay drags her clipped fingernails down Bill’s jaw without force. “All mine, eh?” 

Scared her voice might waver if she speaks, Bill only nods. It’s this—the idea of being possessed by Jay—that sets her gut over a low flame where it begins to simmer. She wants Jay to take her. Right there, in the gloom of the alley, with Yaz holding her back, Bill wants Jay to put her hands all over her and unspool her like yarn. 

Jay leans in. Yaz holds Bill’s wrists behind her back, but Bill is more than happy to surrender sovereignty of her own body to the two of them. She’ll play the hostage if they play with her. 

Rather than put her mouth on Bill, Jay lets it hover by her ear; breathes hot and heavy against it. She splays her fingers across Bill’s stomach. 

“Know what you look like, right now?”

“What?” croaks Bill. 

“My new favourite toy.”

And then both of them are kissing opposite sides of her neck. Bill’s breathing jumps; she lets her head fall back against Yaz’s shoulder. The hands around her wrists tighten and the one on her stomach edges up past the hem of her top. 

What once simmered begins to boil when Jay gropes Bill through her bra. Her thumb passes over an already stiff nipple. Jay circles back to it. Pinches it. Twists it. Bill grimaces but keeps quiet. 

“Cold, Bill?” mocks Jay. 

Bill laughs uneasily. “I’m warming up, trust me.”

Still palming Bill’s chest, Jay nibbles at the patch of skin beneath her ear. It’s little more than a graze of teeth, at first. A pleasant scrape that tickles more than it hurts. Then she bites down in earnest. 

Hissing through clenched teeth, Bill starts. 

Jay and Yaz chuckle in turn. 

“Watch out for that one,” warns Yaz. “She’s a biter.”

“Guilty.” Jay draws her head back and stares Bill down. Her hand falls out from under her top and lands on the buckle of her belt. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” blurts Bill. “Please.”

“Aw, look, Yaz. She’s got manners, too,” Jay snickers. “Still. Why should we get all the fun while my poor girlfriend stands there and watches? D’you reckon that’s fair?”

Bill twists her neck to gauge Yaz, who’s looking at her like she’s dinner, and shakes her head. “No, of course not.”

“Me neither.” Jay nods at Yaz. “Go ahead, love.”

“Thanks, babe.”

Whilst Jay unbuckles Bill’s belt, Yaz guides one of her hands up her dress and between her legs. Bill expects to find material there. Underwear. A thong. Anything. 

Instead, her journey to the apex of Yaz’s thighs is unimpeded. 

Yaz is slicker than an oil spill. Soft, velvety, fucking incredible. She drags Bill’s fingers along herself. Bill groans involuntarily. 

“How does she feel?” Jay demands, tugging Bill’s zip down. 

“She’s—she’s soaked. Fuck, she’s soaked.”

“That right, Yaz?”

“Mhm,” hums Yaz. “Wanna see?”

“Show me.”

After gathering herself up on Bill’s fingers, Yaz pulls her hand out from under her dress and offers it to Jay. 

Bill swears under her breath when Jay closes her lips around her fingers, swirls her tongue around them; sucks them clean. Her eyelashes flutter and she sighs, approving. 

What a sight. 

“God, you taste good.”

Jay gives Bill’s hand back to Yaz. Bill doesn’t mind the way they pass her back and forth; is perfectly content for them to use her however they see fit. In fact, she’s over the moon when Yaz reintroduces her fingers to the valley between her thighs and swirls the pad of her middle finger lightly across her clit. 

Resting her chin on Bill’s shoulder, Yaz exhales slowly. “That’s nice,” she coos. 

A shiver crawls up and down Bill’s spine. 

Propping herself up with one hand against the wall, Jay slides her other beneath the waistband of Bill’s underwear. Her face is unreadable up until the instant her fingers find home. Then, her lips twitch with depraved glee and she thuds her forehead against Bill’s. 

“You been this wet all night?” she asks.

“Uh. Pretty much.”

“Tell you the truth, Bill,” Jay begins, swiping her fingers through her, “I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you. You’re just so…”

“Irresistible?” cracks Bill. 

She doesn’t expect Jay to agree, but, “Yeah, actually. That’s a pretty good way of puttin’ it,” says Jay. “I’ve got a lot of urges, and you make it really hard to resist ‘em.”

Bill doesn’t hesitate. “Don’t, then.”

Jay drives her hips forward, flattening both Bill and Yaz against the wall. Yaz gasps—finds a faster rhythm using Bill’s hand—and then Jay descends on Bill’s throat while her fingers find a quick, hard pace of their own between her thighs. Bill bites down on her lip to stifle a moan. 

Jay doesn’t fuck her like she wants to take her time; she fucks her like the only thing she wants is to watch her fall apart. 

Her fingers are rough and directed. Her teeth clamp into Bill’s throat hard enough to dent her flesh. She growls into her neck. Bill can’t tell what makes her cry out, the pain or the pleasure, but she does, and then suddenly there’s a hand covering her mouth. She thinks it’s Jay’s. Can’t be sure. 

As if that wasn’t enough of a bombardment on Bill’s senses, Yaz is jerking her hand vigorously and riding the flats of her fingers. She whimpers quietly behind her, and—though her wrist is aching with the awkward angle—Bill swears she could do this all night. 

She’s soaked to Jay’s touch, which is as brutal as it is breathtaking. Literally. 

Bill’s breathing is reduced to quick, shallow intakes of air in no time, which find her through the gaps in the fingers mashed against her lips. How can she help that? There are tongues at her neck, fingers on her clit, teeth on her ear, grunts and gasps and curses in the air, bodies crushed against her, and it overloads Bill. Short-circuits her. 

Unable to drum up a single lucid thought, she surrenders body and mind and allows the high tide of pure sensation to engulf her entirely. There’s nothing for her to do anyway except take it. 

Her eyes have been squeezed shut for a while. She pries them open again to find Jay studying both her and Yaz intently while they squirm, gasp; get off together. Intentional or not, Jay gives something about herself away, then. It’s in the black of her eyes. It’s in the way she wets her lips. It’s in her gritted teeth and locked jaw. 

Jay likes to watch. 

Meeting her eye feels like a mistake. It’s just, Jay looks so sinister like that, and Bill worries she’s somehow angered her by witnessing her witnessing them. Certainly, Jay reacts to it. 

Removing her hand from over Bill’s mouth, Jay relocates it to her curls and yanks her head back. Bill’s mouth falls open but she’s careful not to make a sound, even when Jay bites her chin, her neck, her shoulder. And her bites aren’t soft. She doesn’t teethe; she mauls. 

Jay rubs Bill faster still. Bill dares to look down. The visual of the hand jerking quickly inside her jeans only makes her wetter; drags her closer to the edge. She can’t be the only one. 

“Fuck, Bill,” sighs Yaz. 

Bill’s name leaving Yaz’s lips like that is enough to make a grown woman weep. Or come. She’s so close. So close. 

Rutting vigorously against Bill’s fingers, Yaz digs a firm hand into her shoulder for balance and pants heavily beside her face. Her earrings dig into Bill’s cheek. Her open mouth hangs from her jaw. Bill wishes she could see her properly, so that she might really cherish the way she looks as she reaps her own selfish pleasure from Bill’s captive hand. 

“Look at me,” grunts Jay. She grips Bill’s jaw, rendering her unable to turn away from the furious perversity scored onto her rigid features. “Say my name. Say it.”

“J—Jay,” stammers Bill. “Oh, Jay—fuck.”

“Good girl.” 

Jay tightens her grasp on Bill’s jaw. She’s staring at her mouth; oozing vulgarity like blood. Bill wants to taste the iron of it on her tongue. She wants to fill her lungs with it; drown in it. 

“Yaz, can I kiss her?” Jay asks.

It’s a little jarring to hear Jay seeking permission, but also, in a sense, endearing. They might both be screwing somebody else, but they haven’t forgotten that they still belong to one another amidst the thrill of the affair. 

“Do it,” Yaz grants between subdued moans. Bill thinks she’s about as close to the brink as she is, if the suddenly urgent manner in which she rides her fingers is any indicator. 

Jay licks her lips. Her fingernails burrow into Bill’s soft cheeks and she leans in slow. Bill already knows, the moment Jay kisses her, she’s not going to be able to keep from coming undone any longer. The very idea of Jay’s mouth on her mouth, Jay’s tongue sliding across her tongue, is enough to stretch Bill’s restraint taut as a wire. The snap is imminent. 

The inches separating their mouths turn to centimetres, turn to millimetres; turn to the breadth of a fine hair. Bill braces herself. 

“Oi!”

Three heads snap to the left. Standing at the entrance of the alleyway, silhouetted against distant streetlights, is the distinct outline of a uniformed cop. 

“What are you doing?” he shouts. “Get over here!”

“Fuck,” swears Bill. 

When Jay pulls out of her trousers, Bill hastily reaches for her belt—but she doesn’t get the chance to buckle it. Jay grabs Yaz and Bill by the wrist. There’s an animated glint in her eye and an addictive sort of danger in her perplexing grin. 

“Run,” she says. 

Bill is left with no choice. Jay yanks them in the opposite direction of the policeman, whose footfall she hears pound the cobbles as he pursues them, and they all three take off at a sprint toward the taxi rank. 

Leaving Bill no time to question the decision, Yaz yanks open the door of a parked cab, clambers inside, and pulls her in after her. Jay’s last in. 

“Drive!” she urges, slamming the door shut. 

The driver eyes them in the rear view. “Where—“

“Just drive!”

The three of them all turn their heads just in time to see the policeman close in on the car. He’s a dollar short and a day late. Oblivious to his breathless shouting and angry gesticulating, the driver pulls away from the kerb and leaves him doubled over on the pavement with a red face and his hands on his knees. 

Jay waves at him through the rear windshield and he flips them off. 

“Fuck me, that was close,” pants Bill, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow with the back of the same hand Yaz had just had tucked up her dress. 

After relaying their address to the cabbie, Yaz sits back and extends Jay a conspiratorial smile. “They’ve never caught us yet, have they, babe?”

“Not once,” confirms Jay. She winks at Yaz. 

Incredulous, Bill looks between them. “You mean that’s happened to you before?”

“Ah, what can we say? We’re spontaneous creatures.” Jay rests her arm across the back of the seat behind Bill. “Who are we to deny our primal instincts when they take us? Human beings, Bill, are animals. Every last one of us. No point pretendin’ to be anythin’ more.”

“Yeah, well, you definitely bite like one,” mutters Bill, rubbing the indents on her throat. 

“I like to mark my territory.” Jay peels Bill’s hand away from her neck and studies her handiwork, brushing her thumb over an impressive mark at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She turns Bill’s face toward Yaz. “What do you think, love?”

Resting a hand on Bill’s knee, Yaz presses a soft kiss to one of the bite marks on her neck. “Some of your finest work.”

“You looked stunnin’ back there,” Jay says to Yaz. “Usin’ Bill like that. God, it drove me up the wall. How was it? Were you close? You looked close.”

“So close.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Jay blows her cheeks out. “Come here.”

Bill might as well not exist when, right in front of her face, Jay pulls Yaz in with a hand at the back of her head and kisses her. It’s the kind of obscenely wet kiss that people usually reserve for the bedroom. Noisy. Graphic. Private. 

Except it’s not private at all. Bill has a front row seat, and the taxi driver is liable to crash the car if he doesn’t stop ogling them in the mirror. 

Lest they let Bill believe she’s been forgotten, Yaz and Jay stroke their hands up along her thighs. Bill doesn’t know if she should be doing anything—probably couldn’t make her limbs comply if she wanted to—so she just sits there with her hands balled at her sides and her eyes on the roof of the car. 

“Touch her,” Yaz whispers through the kiss. “I know you’re dyin’ to finish what you started, babe.”

Briefly, Jay’s eyelids flutter open and she glances at Bill. 

Infected as she has become by these intoxicating strangers and their reckless disregard of both shame and self-control, Bill nods. _Why the hell not?_

Closing her eyes once more, Jay deepens the kiss with a quiet purr and blindly creeps her hand up Bill’s leg. 

Bill’s pulse is loud and bassy in her ears when Jay’s slim fingers work their way back into her trousers. She never did get the chance to fasten herself back up, nor was the flame of her arousal afforded the chance to burn itself out. 

Jay finds her hot and ready. 

The state of Bill must affect her, because she bites down on Yaz’s lip and fists her free hand in the back of her hair. Yaz takes it out on Bill. She grips her thigh with a painful lack of restraint and yanks her legs a touch further apart, making it all the easier for Jay to do her job. 

With the city lights passing them by in a hazy blur, Jay picks up right where she left off in the alleyway. Bill masks a groan with a cough. 

Jay’s fingers, while slippery, are firm and focused. She rubs tight circles against Bill’s throbbing clit and smirks against Yaz’s lips when Bill arches into her hand. The more passionate their kiss, the harder Jay bears down on Bill’s over-sensitive nerves, and the more difficult it becomes for Bill to hold it together.

Unthinking, she tilts her head back and grabs them both by the shoulder. They break away from one another in unison and turn on her. 

“Alright there, Bill?” Jay asks, the epitome of innocence. Meanwhile, her fingers are unrelenting inside her jeans. “Lookin’ a bit out of it.”

Bill clenches her teeth. “Fine.”

“Sure, babe?” Yaz strokes her cheek. “You’re really burnin’ up.”

Jay winds an arm around Bill’s shoulders and sidles

right up next to her, cheek to cheek, and they both look down and watch her hand work rapidly. Bill glances at the driver. He’s staring at her in the mirror. Does he know? Can he tell? She averts her gaze and tries not to let on. 

The others are not so concerned by his presence.

“Just relax,” Yaz croons in her ear. 

But it’s hard to relax when Jay is working her so doggedly toward a climax she’s been craving all night. 

As Yaz starts to kiss her neck, Jay grips Bill by her hair and turns her head toward her. Bill can’t help but stare at her mouth. It’s smudged with Yaz’s lipstick; swollen by her kiss. 

Bill rests her hand gently over the one Jay has buried between her thighs for no other reason than to feel her fingers work. Jay doesn’t break her stride. If anything, she doubles down, and Bill loses her breath when Yaz drags her tongue up her neck at the same time. 

“Jesus Christ,” Bill whispers. Her heart rages behind her ribs, her hips twitch; she’s trembling all over. 

Jay surges forwards. Bill’s head slams against the headrest when Jay’s mouth collides harshly with her own. She thrusts her tongue past Bill’s lips without grace and Bill lets her; opens her mouth and invites her in. 

As anticipated, Jay kisses her rough. 

Her lips are crushing and merciless, her tongue is greedy and invasive; her teeth are sharp as fangs. The skin of Bill’s lower lip tears when Jay bites down. She tastes blood. She doesn’t care. Her hand finds the back of Jay’s head, fingertips buried in the short, dark bristles of her undercut, and she pulls her closer. 

Jay licks Bill’s lips. Nibbles on them. Sucks them. 

It’s too much.

“I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Do it,” Jay murmurs, pinning her back with a fiercer kiss. She’s all but straddling Bill’s lap, like she can’t hold herself back; like she just wants to mount Bill and let the whole world watch as she fucks her in the back of the taxi. 

Her knuckles repeatedly strike the stiff denim of Bill’s jeans when she reaches a maddening pace. She’s fingering her ruthlessly; with animosity. Yaz’s teeth melt into her shoulder. Jay’s tongue melts into her mouth. 

Bill gasps and gasps and gasps. 

And then she comes. 

Her hips jerk off the seat. A hand around her throat slams her down. There’s still a tongue in her mouth and a fist in her hair whilst her whole body convulses with tremor after tremor of euphoria. 

She tries to be quiet, but she thinks a muted whine might pass from her lips to Jay’s. Jay bites her for it. 

Her fingers don’t ease up until Bill’s limbs slacken; until her breathing begins to even out and she slumps, relieved, against her seat. The hand in her jeans goes still. Jay pulls her head back. Eyes closed, Bill catches her breath with her head lolled back. 

Then there’s a gruff, low voice in her ear. “Now, what do you say?”

Bill lifts her head to find Jay glaring at her, expectant. Her stomach turns, but it isn’t necessarily an unpleasant feeling. 

The fear that strikes Bill when Jay looks at her just so is the same brand of fear thrill-seekers feel at the top of a rollercoaster; the same brand skydivers feel when they’re standing on the ledge of an open plane. It’s laced intrinsically with adrenaline. With anticipation. Exhilaration. In short, it’s a drug, and Bill’s veins are ripe for pollution. 

“Uh. Thanks. Thank you,” splutters Bill. “That was—I mean, you’re—“

“My girlfriend’s good with her hands, isn’t she?” muses Yaz, absently massaging the back of Bill’s head. 

Jay withdraws her hand from Bill’s pants and wipes her fingers clean on her jeans. “Wouldn’t bother bucklin’ up, if I were you,” she says, nodding at the window. “We’re here.”

Sure enough, even as she speaks, the taxi slows to a stop outside a modern apartment complex in a more affluent part of the city. Jay pays the tight-lipped driver, tips him generously, and then claps Bill on the shoulder with an ironclad grip. 

Bill cowers before her ungodly grin. 

“Let’s get this show off the road, shall we?”


End file.
